Lights Out Read online

  The man tries to get to his feet, but he immediately slips and starts letting out an anguished choking sound as his skins gets paler and paler.

  “Look up at the sky,” Anders continues. “It's beautiful, don't you think? Try to focus on that.”

  Looking up, Anders sees that the ribbons of red are getting brighter, while the lack of light pollution from the ground is making the stars much easier to see. In fact, for a moment Anders is utterly mesmerized by the vast beauty that's spread out across the heavens. He barely even hears the final choking gasps of the dying man; instead, he takes a deep breath and watches as the ribbons drift slowly across the sky. He's seen beautiful things before, of course, but this he knows is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  By the time he looks back down, Hoodie-Man is face-down dead in the gutter.

  Chapter Eighteen

  18:20pm

  “Imagine the stories that are taking place out there right now,” Essien whispers, still sitting cross-legged at the window, still staring out across the darkness of London. “So many people, in such an unusual situation. I imagine some very horrible things are happening tonight in this great city.”

  A moment later, his eyes are drawn to a distant glow, and a faint smile crosses his lips.

  “Something's on fire,” he says, as if the sight has confirmed his speculation. “Where's that, out toward Hammersmith? Must be a big fire for us to see it from here. Looters, do you think? A party? Or maybe just a bonfire to mark the occasion. Never underestimate average people, Randall. They really are that stupid.”

  “If you say so, Sir,” Randall replies, still watching his boss from a safe distance, and still holding the handle of his gun under his jacket. “I'm glad that you're finding it all so interesting. This is quite a night.”

  Essien turns to him, although in the candlelight he's barely able to see a thing.

  Randall waits for him to say something, and then he feels a flicker of discomfort as he realizes that his boss is merely staring.

  “I think I see more flames out there, Sir,” he says finally, hoping to cause a distraction. He knows he's waited long enough, and that it's time to act. “As you mentioned earlier, people have an uncommon ability to cause trouble. Perhaps this powerless night is helping the powerless to rise up.”

  “Huh,” Essien mutters. “Maybe you should be the poet, Randall.”

  Randall offers a sickly smile, while waiting for his boss to turn away.

  “I'm hungry,” Essien says suddenly, getting to his feet and heading over to the table, where he grabs one of the candles before walking toward the kitchen. “Don't trouble yourself, Randall. I'll get it.”

  “But -”

  Shocked, Randall waits as Essien disappears into the darkness of the kitchen. He's never known his boss to simply go and get something for himself before, and his mind is racing now. He knows he could – and should – have already fired a bullet straight into the back of Essien's head by now, that he's spent the past hour savoring the anticipation. He knows Essien should be dead, so he resolves to get the job done quickly, before there's any chance of his plot being uncovered. Then, when the sun comes up and the power returns, he can be out of the building before anyone knows what has happened, and he can transfer all of Essien's companies to his own name. After all, Essien is a hated man. Nobody will ask too many questions.

  Reminding himself that he needs to get moving, Randall heads cautiously toward the kitchen door. He can hear Essien bumping about in the next room, and there's a faint glow of candlelight now around the door's base. Randall reaches out and pushes the door open, and in that moment the sound of activity comes to a stop.

  Randall waits.

  Silence.

  “Sir?” he calls out. “Can I help you with anything?”

  Again he waits, but there's no answer.

  “Remember,” he continues, “the light in the fridge won't work. If you'd prefer, I can prepare whatever you want. Within certain limitations, of course.”

  His throat is dry now, and each silent passing second causes him to adjust his grip on the gun a little more. He's getting sweaty, but he keeps telling himself that there's no need to panic. Finally, forcing himself to be brave, he steps forward and sees a solitary candle burning on the counter. Looking around, however, he feels a shudder pass through his chest as he realizes that there's no sign whatsoever of Essien.

  “Sir?” he says cautiously. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

  He waits.

  No answer.

  Still telling himself to stay calm, he holds the kitchen door open while craning his neck to look past the counter. He half expects to see Essien on the floor, perhaps having fallen victim to some kind of freak accident.

  No such luck.

  “Sir, is something wrong?” he continues, trying to hide the panic in his voice. “Sir, I'm responsible for your safety. I'd really like to know that you're okay. Can you say something?”

  Silence.

  “Sir!”

  Taking a deep breath, and with one hand still on the gun, Randall takes a step back into the doorway. His mind is racing with possibilities, and he's terrified that at any moment Essien might emerge from the shadows and reveal that he's been growing suspicious all evening. Finally, worried about getting caught out in the open, Randall steps back and lets the kitchen door swing shut, and then he turns to look across the apartment.

  The room is dark, save for a faint red glow that's caused by the flickering, rippling sky.

  Randall listens.

  He hears nothing.

  Nothing apart from his own breath, at least.

  And after a moment, he begins to think that he can also hear his own heartbeat.

  “Sir,” he says, stepping cautiously across the room, watching the darkness for any hint of movement, “I don't know what this is about, but I'd like to -”

  Suddenly he hears a noise and spins around.

  He almost takes the gun out, but at the last second he manages to restrain himself. He's already doubting his own ears, but for a moment he thought he heard a faint, angry grunting sound coming from the darkness. Now he takes a step back, while watching in case there's any sign of Essien coming closer. Then, a moment later, he turns and looks the other way, in case he's in a trap.

  “Sir?”

  He instantly hears the fear in his own voice.

  “Sir, I don't know what this is about,” he continues, “but I need you to let me know where you are. At least let me know that you're okay.”

  While he waits for an answer, he's inwardly kicking himself for not having finished this sooner. While Essien was spouting poetry, Randall actually enjoyed hearing his boss pontificate on a variety of topics. Thinking that he had all the time in the world to get the job done, Randall let slip a golden opportunity to blow his boss's head clean off his shoulders. It should all be over by now. He should have remembered the lesson that so many other people learned the hard way over the years:

  If you get a chance to kill Michael Essien, you take that chance immediately. Otherwise you'll be the one who ends up dead.

  “Okay,” Randall whispers under his breath, as he continues to wait. “Just stay calm. Everything's going to be alright.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  19:00pm

  “Damn it!” Randall hisses, still struggling with the door that leads into the stairwell, still trying to flip the bolt that's keeping the exit sealed. He knows this is hopeless, but he's starting to panic. “Come on!”

  He's been working for half an hour now, trying desperately to find a way out. This part of the apartment is pitch-black, and Randall doesn't dare light a candle. Fortunately he knows the layout of the place, and he's able to move about and operate in darkness. He can't work in complete silence, however, and he's finding that the door's security system is impossible to disengage without power. Earlier, he'd taken great pains to ensure that the apartment would be sealed from the rest of the building for the duration of the s
olar storm. Now he's finding that his own good work is keeping him trapped.

  After a moment he stops and turns, looking back along the corridor. In the distance, he can just about make out a faint red glow on the wall, cast by the solar storm beyond the window. There's still no sign of Essien; Randall's boss seems to have completely disappeared a while ago, as if some force reached out and plucked him out of existence. Randall knows that's not possible, of course. There's only one realistic explanation.

  Essien knows.

  He doesn't understand how, but it's clear to him now that his boss is onto his plan. The plan didn't even exist twentyfour hours ago. Until this morning, Randall was quite happy working for Essien. He daydreamed about what he'd do if he had Essien's money and power, but he never really thought that he might get a chance. Then news came in about the solar storm, and Randall's mind began to race with the possibilities. Given the circumstances, he'd managed to put the plan together with remarkable haste. He'd even had time to phone the airport and persuade the managers to refuse Essien's pleas for a takeoff slot. He'd understood that if he kept Essien confined to the apartment, he'd be able to kill him.

  Then there had been the other part of the plan, which had involved prompting Essien to make certain stock purchases. Randall had set these up so that all the money flowed into his own personal accounts. Ordinarily, such transactions would set alarm bells ringing all around the world, but Randall knows that few people will shed a tear upon hearing of Essien's death. The rich and powerful – the people who really run the world – will turn a blind eye and just be glad that Essien is gone.

  And if he'd just pulled the trigger sooner, all of this would be guaranteed by now.

  He turns and tries the door one final time, before realizing that there's no point. He's the one who sealed the apartment, he knows it can't be unsealed until the power comes back on, which won't be for another ten or eleven hours.

  He hesitates, and then slowly he slips the gun out from under his jacket. There's no point pretending now, no point trying to hide his true intentions. He just has to do what he failed to do earlier. He has to get this job done.

  After listening for a moment to the silence of the apartment, he takes a step forward. The red glow on the far wall at least allows him to be certain that Essien isn't too close. He considers simply staying put and waiting for Essien to make the first move, but he worries that Essien might simply hang back and wait until morning. Stepping forward, Randall tells himself that he has the advantage, that his boss is out of practice these days. He tells himself that he only needs one shot.

  Reaching the door that leads through to the main room, Randall stops and looks around. There's still no sign of Essien, which means that he's most likely hiding somewhere. He tries to think of all the possible spots, but in truth he's starting to panic and he's finding it difficult to keep his thoughts in order.

  “Sir, it's me!” he blurts out finally, desperately hoping that he can talk Essien into making a mistake. “I don't know what's wrong, but I'm worried about you. If you're scared that someone's broken into the apartment, I can assure you that I've checked the place thoroughly. I've checked it over and over and there's nobody else here. It's just you and me.”

  He waits.

  Was that a mistake?

  He's given up his position now, and so far he's gained no benefit.

  His instinct is to go back to the door, to somehow force it open, but he knows that wouldn't work. His only option is to get the job done, which means finding Essien and putting a bullet in his head.

  “Sir, I'm on your side,” he continues, stepping forward, hoping to draw Essien out. “I've checked the door, I've checked the elevators. I've checked everything. I swear to you, there are no access points. You don't doubt my word, do you?”

  Again, he waits.

  He knows Essien is out there somewhere, in the darkness of the apartment. He knows he can hear everything.

  “I'm on your side,” he mutters, as he starts to realize that he needs another tactic. He takes a step back. “Why can't you -”

  Suddenly he bumps against something.

  Before he has time to turn, he feels a hand grab his right arm from the darkness and slam it against the side of the door, snapping the bone in an instant.

  Crying out, Randall falls forward as the gun drops from his hand. He stumbles and then falls down onto his knees, then he turns and lunges desperately for the gun. In the darkness, he merely hits the wall, and then a hand grabs him by the throat and throws him across the room, sending him skittering against the window.

  Trying to ignore the pain, Randall starts stumbling to his feet.

  Suddenly a foot kicks him hard in the face, knocking him back down, and then two hands grab his lapels and lift him shivering with fear from the floor.

  “To think I was worried I'd be bored tonight,” Essien sneers, his features picked out by the constantly-shifting red light that's getting stronger in the sky now. “I knew someone was coming for me. When it comes to self-preservation, my instinct is never wrong. Now it looks like I've got some punishing to do. Oh well.” He leans closer. “At least I won't get bored tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty

  19:14pm

  “Come on, Cassie, where are you?” Anders mutters as he checks his watch again and then looks both ways along the street. “I know you're coming. You're not going to let me down.”

  He waits, but there's still no sign of anyone. Even the screaming lunatics in the distance seem to have quieted down; that, or they've wandered a little further away and are screaming at something else now.

  Starting to feel agitated now, he checks his watch again, only to see that the second hand has stopped ticking.

  “Even this bloody thing is affected by the storm,” he sighs, before turning to look over at his two backpacks.

  Until this moment, he'd never really given much thought to the possibility that Cassie might fail to show up, but now there's just a hint of panic starting to flicker in the back of his mind. He's thinking about the look on her face earlier, when she'd told him she couldn't abandon her family. At the time he'd thought that expression was just part of the act, that at most it was something she'd be able to overcome. Now, however, he's starting to worry that he might have misread the situation entirely.

  “You're coming,” he says, before checking his watch, only to remember that it no longer works. Still, it must be at least 19:15pm, which means she's officially missed the rendezvous. “This is not you,” he continues. “I have faith in you.”

  Even though he told her he wouldn't wait, he decides to loiter for a few more minutes. He tells himself to stop getting so irritated, but he's already starting to pace back and forth along the street as he tries to think of reasons why Cassie might simply be late. At the same time, he knows her too well, and he knows that she's not the kind of person who'd ever leave something like this to the last minute. She should be here, she should already have one of the backpacks over her shoulder and she should be asking him about the plan.

  Instead, there's no sign of her at all.

  Anders looks one way along the street, then the other.

  His heart is racing. He's already telling himself that he can pull this mission off alone, that he's old but not too old. Deep down, though, he knows that the odds are much worse if he doesn't have Cassie with him.

  He also knows that he has to try.

  Finally, figuring that by now it must be at least 19:20pm, he sighs as he realizes that he's given her five minutes extra.

  She's not coming.

  “Fuck you,” he whispers, horrified by the idea that she's backing out of something they agreed upon ten years ago. “How can you live with yourself?”

  Turning, he heads over to the backpacks and crouches down. There's no way he can carry both of them, so he's going to have to somehow fit what he needs into just one pack. He's already packed light, and now he's having to pack lighter than ever. As he sets out various sets of
grenades, he's already grumbling under his breath about all the things he won't be able to take up the tower, and he's planning what he's going to say to Cassie next time he sees her. Because he definitely will see her again, that much he knows; as soon as he's finished with Essien, he's going to go and knock on Cassie's door, and he's going to tell her about his disappointment.

  “Damn it!” he snaps finally, as he finds that he can't possibly fit what he needs into one backpack.

  For a few minutes, he tries various different approaches, but nothing works. All his plans have been thrown into disarray and he's getting more and more annoyed, until eventually he turns around and – with no other outlet for his anger – he kicks a nearby bin.

  “What is wrong with people?” he sighs, before heading back to the backpacks and setting out to finally make some kind of compromise. “Where's the honor in the modern world? Where's the pride? Where's the dedication?”

  After a few more minutes, he finally has a backpack that contains the absolute bare minimum equipment. He's still not quite sure how he's going to get by without the items he has to leave behind, but he figures he'll come up with a plan once he's in the tower. He takes a moment to secure the second backpack, and then he stuffs it into the bin so that he can come back and claim it later.

  “I don't know how you can live with yourself, Cassie,” he says finally, as he takes a deep breath and tries to get his anger under control. “Nothing's worth this complete lack of honor. I suppose I must have been wrong about you all these years. I'm not a very good judge of character after all.”

  With that, he slings his single backpack over his shoulder and sets off along the street. Night has fallen now, the sky is rippling with shades of red, and Essien Tower stands waiting in the distance. It's time to get on with the job.